A Patriot By Any Other Name
by Bookworm1027
Summary: Edward Masen's family is staying in Boston for the summer as honored guests of the royal governor. He's unhappy,surrounded by the unruly patriots. But want happens when he befriends sensible Bella Swan, daughter of the leader of a rebelious group?AH 1700
1. The New World

Edward Masen

The New World

My leg hit the edge of the dock, my foot thumping against the wood. The sun was high in the afternoon, the rays of light burning heat on the back of my hair covered neck. My long copper hair—pulled back into the stylish ponytail that was popular among my kin—was dripped with sweat, the beads of perspiration falling heavily onto the ground beneath me.

I looked around at my new homeland—for a little while, at least. The Colonies of America, the called it back home. It was supposed to be full of rich, fertile land, and wild, beautiful women.

Not that either of those were my reasons for coming here.

Not that I'd wantedto be here in the first place.

I'd much rather be back in London, working on my studies than climbing off the disgusting, cramped ship I had. Even staying in the large quarters that had been assigned to me, it was clear I much preferred my feet be on solid ground to sea.

"It's hot as hell here," I hear my father mutter behind me, beginning to unbutton his coat. I turned to see his fingers had almost reached the second button before my mother stepped in, her panicked fingers quickly moving his out of the way.

"No, don't dear," she ordered in a fluttery tone. "A guest of the royal governor's can not appear at the house in his waistcoat. Think of how people will talk!"

My father sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling with the movement. "You're quite right, dear." He re-button his coat. I stifled a laugh as I watched them.

My father, his tall figure, standing next to my debutant mother was a sight to see. My appearance could be easily seen in both of them. My face structure in my father's strong, noble cheek bones and wide, intimidating eyes. His form was tall and slightly muscled, built more for speed than fight. These characteristics I had kept from my father mixed with my mother's emerald eye color and coppery hair.

Approaching us from behind, I heard the sound of horses' feet against the wooden dock, and I swiveled around to face the thundering clap.

A large carriage pulls up, the horses all a light brown caramel. The driver had perfect posture, as he should, and hops down immediately, bowing to all of us in turn.

"Mr. and Mrs. Masen, " he says lowing his form deeply. Then, turning to me and repeating the action, "Master Masen, An honor to serve you. The Governor has sent his best carriage to recive you."

My mother is nothing if not appreciative of the finest things in life. She nods her head in thank, approaching the door and waiting. The servant take a hold of her hand, helping to lift her gently into the horse drown carriage. My father follows after her with little assistance and I come in last.

We each had a seat on the luxurious leather benches, me facing my mother and father.

The carriage begins to move with a harsh jolt, sending me half flying into the open window next to me.

"Good gracious," my mother murmurs, straightening her cap. It is a shining green, matching her hankercheif and quilted silk petticoat. It brought out the forest shade in her bright eyes. "These roads are a bit.." thud "Bumpy."

I stifled another laugh, which got a pointed glare from both my parents. It wasn't right for a member of a family our stature to be so frivolous in public.

Up ahead, we approached a large mansion. It was made of symmetrical, perfectly sculpted bricks. Blue curtains were masked by a dozen pale white window panes, the dull eggshell color barely managing to brighten the glooy air the royal house presented. I sighed in exasperation, my thoughts beginning to travel down a depressing path. Living in a lonely place like this was just another of the challanges my father's new living arrangments placed upon on me.

The welcoming gates were close to ten feet tall, bronze statues lining the entryway. The carriage pulled to a rough stop, jerking my body almost completely out of seat.

"Really," my father scoffed slightly.

The driver came around again, opening the door and offering my mother his hand. She pretended he didn't exist, nodding at my father. He exited the cab, helping his wife.

After we were all out, my father did not tip the driver.

I felt a strong wave of sympathy for the man.

Most people of wealth seemed to forget that we were all once poor—that sometime in our families' history there was a servant boy or girl.

I was distracted from my pity for the poor man as a loud yell came from behind the bronze entryway.

"Edward Masen! As I live and breath!"

The man who shouted was a plump figure, the buttons on his waist coat pulled tight to the point of popping. Surrounding him were several men in British red military uniforms. They had muskets strapped onto their backs, expressions on their face solemn.

The man they were guarding—the governor—was anything but solemn.

His clothes were brightly-and somewhat eccentrily--colored, a wide, feather brimmed hat placed upon his pimple-like head. His cheeks were natrually rose, as though an adoring mother had repeatedly pinched them tightly. His smile was wide and laugh lines covered his face. He looked like the kind of ma that smiled easily, and frowned with difficulty.

His feet, large and sheathed in in cream colored boots seemed to skip to a tune only he could hear as he approched my father. It seemed odd to me how my father--stern, dry witted, father--could ever be friendly with a man such as this.

"Ed!" the govener called as he stepped forward. He pulled my father into a kind, deep hug and then pulled back to examin him closer. A kind, large, familiar smile spread over the face of the roayl governor and a spark filled his pale blue eyes. "You're looking old, my friend" he told my father with mock seriousness.

My father gave a low, deep laugh as he shook his head in exasperation. "Hark who is speaking, Jonothan."And then, with a smirk pulling up at his cracked lips, "Or should I say, Royal Governor Patricks."

Governor Patricks laughed again, dismissing my father with a light wave of his hand. He moved to face my mother. His eyes traveled over her form and he smiled before bowing lowly, placing a polite kiss on her palm. "You, however, Madam Masen, haven't changed a bit. Beautiful as always."

My mother flushed lightlly at the compliment before subboring and curtsying to the governor.

I stiffled a chuckle, and this unfortunatly caused the man's attention to  
focus onto me.

He stepped to focus on me, his child-like eyes eyes bright with curiousity.

"So this is the young master, Edward?" he asked rhetorically. I bowed at the waist, forcing a friendly smile to cross over my features.

"You look like your father, " he told me, his brow quirking upwards, but then, another deep smirk lightening his face, "But not too much like him, thankfully."

My father rolled his eyes at us both, but otherwise said nothing.

"It is an honor to meet you, governor." I greeted automatically, having all but rehearsed the line.

The man smiled at me, but otherwise said nother, as he waved his hand forward. "My friends," he told us, "Please, come inside." I'll have my servants show you to your quarters."

We followed behind him, a few of the guards surronding us picking up our luggage that had been loaded onto the back of the carriage.

As we grew close to the grand, wooden doors they were pulled open from the inside, letting us enter.

The inside of the Royal Govneror's palace was somehow even more magnificent than the outside. The ceiling was decorated with golden leaves and vines, seeming to spiral up to heaven. Cherubs danced along the flowers and skies. It  
was lovely.

"Oh my," my mother said, echoing off the arched ceiling as if we were in the high Alps. "It's so beautiful, Governor Patricks. Your house is marvelous."

"Thank you, Mrs. Masen," the governor said to her, a small air of smugness in his voice. "I had it done about three years ago by an up and coming artist."

"Oh?" My mother asked again, suprised by knowlege of someone she wasn't familiar with. "Anyone I know?"

Patricks shook his head, looking bemused by the middle aged wife. "I would guess not, Mrs. Masen. He lives here, in Boston."

"Ah."

A servant walked into the parlor then, his expression twisted into a look of nervousness. "Sir?" he asked quietly, calling to the Governor. "Mr. Masen and Master Masen's rooms have been preapred."

"Ah yes," the govenoer said happily, clapping his hands together as if he were an enlightend child, fiannly getting the toy he always wanted. He shook my father's hand again, bowing to my mother. "Won't you freshen up and join the rest of the house for supper, won't you?"

"We'd love to," my mother answered as I nodded respectfully.

We followed the servant upstairs his staute perfect and posture prestine. He held himself with all of the underestimated strength that was required for being a servant. I respected him, being able to hold himself with dignity while not having any freedom of his own. It saddened me, sometimes, how people like my parents--people like me--often didn't think about how much perseverance it took to be a servant. How much self confidence it must have cost to walk among the wealthy and be treated as less than human.

The servant led my parents down the hall first, to the larger room, I entered through the door, my mother giving me a small pat on the shoulder for comfort. She knew how difficult it was to be here--how much I wished I were back in London.

I gave her a half-hearted smile until the door had closed, following the man in front of me to the second to last room in the hall. "Thank you," I told him once he had bowed to me lowly.

"Not a problem, Master Masen."

"What is your name?" I asked him, my hand positioned on the door knob.

He bowed again. "Holard, Master Masen."

I smiled at him, forcing myself to make it appear genuine. "It was a pleasure to met you, Holard. If you wouldn't mind, however, please call me Edward."

He looked startled by this, surprised by my forwardness. "Yes Mast--Edward. What ever you wish, Sir."

I shook my head at him, a pretend frown crossing over my features. "Sir? Holard, sir is my father. I'm just Edward."

Holard appeared to be amused now, by my antics. "As you wish, Edward. Would you like a bath drawn up?"

I nodded. "Yes please--piping hot."

"Right away."

I walked through the door.

My room here was much larger than mine back home. There was a large four poster bed in the middle, dark blue curtains hanging from the wood banisters. In the corner, in a wood matching the color of the large bed, was a massive wardobe. My bag sat beside it, already empty. I assumed, rightfully, as I found out later, that one of the maids had already placed my clothing in the dresser. A small bedpan sat underneath the bed slip. A empty basin sat next to the wadrobe, just big enough for me to bath in.

I sat down on the fully stuffed mattress, resting my hands on my knees and sighing was my new home, it seemed.

I missed London, but this would have to do.


	2. Dining With the Governor

**Okay, So yes, I know. Why the hell am I starting another story. I will be continuing with The Gold Mine and The Swan's Cove. It's just...this time period is one of my favorites and I couldn't help myself. **

**Bella and Edward will meet in my next chapter. There will be futrue lemons. And, yes, this is a slight play on Romeo and Juliet, although since I really can't stand that play (the only of Shakespeare's plays I hate) I won't be taking more than the forbidden love aspect. **

**I'm not getting as many reviews as I hoped, so if this isn't as popluar as my other stories by a signifigant amount, I'll probably be discontinuing. **

**Thanks, Bookworm. **

Edward Masen

Dining With the Governor

After I had bathed and dressed, now wearing my best golden hued waist coat, I made my way down the grand curving staircase. My hand lingered on the smooth of the banaster of the stairs, feeling the carefully sanded wood beneath my finger tips. I listened absent mindedly as my feet thumped against the hardwood floor, careful to avoid scuffing the light pine with my newly polished shoes.

My hair was combed back into a new, fresh pony tail, handing down to my upper back. I felt better now that my skin was clean and my outfit uncovered with dust--like I was ready to face the world.

I entered the dining hall at last, my footsteps rising and falling at a slower pace as I approached a pair of giant brass door, towering at least four feet above my head. Two servant were posted, one on each side of the double doors, their expressions as emotionless as the entreyway they gaurded. I walked forward, pausing as I neared them. They did not turn thier heads, though the two moved barely two steps forward to push open the brass slabs.

As the wide doors were pushed open, the dining room was presented to me. The ceiling was not arched, as it was in the dinning room. Instead, the chamber was rectangular and long, seeming to stretch half of the length of the entire palace. The floor beneath my feet was a dark brown, though it glimmered from the high candle light. The ceiling was painted a deep blue, as though it were the night sky. Hanging from the mock horizon were six shimmering chandalers, each containing eight oil lamps. They were light, giving the dark sky roof a stary scene. In the center of the long room, roaming from one end to the other. It was made of a dark cherry wood and it shined from thick layers of table was set with at least two dozen place settings, each using the finest chinas and crystal glasses. But even through all this magnificence, my attention was drawn to something else entirely.

Sitting at the table, behind one of the two dozen place settings already occupied, was a person. I recognized only three of them--my parents at the end, and the Governor, beside them at the head of table. I realized, with much chagrin, that I was late. Certainly a fabulous way to make an impression.

"Your grace," I said, giving the Governor a small bow of my head. I spoke loudly, my voice echoing through the fatastic room. "I beg your pardon for my tardiness. I wasn't aware my freshening up had taken so long."

Patricks waved his hand dismissivly in front of him, and then motion my down towards his end. "Not to worry, Young Masen," he told me. "I was once your age. I understand the lack of attention a young man can have."

I flushed slightly at his backhanded--though deserved--insult, mumbling a "Yes, of course Sir." and sitting my self into a chair next my mother. She and my father both cast me a reprimanding look, and then down towards the table, preparing to say grace.

After the Governor had thanked God, The King, Queen, and his guests, he clapped loudly, and a ten servants began bring each person their plate. They moved with a still, siff sort of grace that I was not used to seeing in my few servants at home. These men --and women, as I'm sure they had chambermaids--had been trained their entires lives in the ways of serving. I was starting to wonder how much of life they had been deprived, but my mental rant of sympathy was cut off as a ladel was placed before me, the hadnful of broth being poured into the bowl on top of my plates. I inhaled the smell of the soup deeply, savoring the flavor of chicken as it wafted up my nostrils, just dabs licking at my tounge.

Everyone at the table turned to watch the governor as he moved his pugie finger, picking up the spoon to the forest right. Our eyes were like vipers as we gazed upon the dramatic man. At last, the noise of a light slurrping could be heard through the lengthy chamber.

At once, the air was filled the clammer of spoons against china bowls, everyone hungrily eating their soup.

After the first course had been finished, very little conversation being exchanged in between, the staff was already placing a small salad in front of each of us.

It was then, halfway during our salad course, that the governor decided to speak. Everyone was one edge as he opened his mouth, waiting to see who he would speak to first. I, who didn't really care for his favor or insult, was more interested in the food in front of me.

"Master Masen," I heard the governor's voice echo across the room, surprising me. after disgracing his word by showing up late, it would not be likely for him to favor me over the rest. I looked up at him polietely, waiting for him to continue. "I'd like to intrduce you to my niece, Kathrine Thompson. She is staying with me for the summer, much like yourself," he nodded to the young woman across from me.

She was dianty and thin, and reasonably pretty. Her eyes were a bright blue, similar to her uncle's. Her face was thin, though slightly plump across her cheek bones. her hair was wispy and blonde, seeming too thin for her features. it was styilish and pined to the back of her head in a complicated formate. Her skin was a pale as any Londoners and seemed just as paper thin. But, even under her delicate, thin features I could sense a wonderful persona. A sharp wit or defiant nature, perhaps? She looked as though she could handle herself--or perhaps it was her unlce's title that brought her confidence?

"It's lovely to meet you, Miss Thompson." I said courteously, lowering my head respectfully.

She smiled warmly at me, her pale pink lips turning up at the corners. "You as well, Mr. Masen."

I frowned, though tried to conceal it. It was one thing for a person with higher soicile class to address me as Master Masen, or Mr. Masen, but when it came to people lower or equal to me, I much preferred Edward. Especially among friends, and I certainly hoped I would find a friend in Miss Thompson. But, though I wanted to correct her, I felt it rude to do so in a public setting. I nod politely again and returned to my salad.

I do not... mingle, much in public gatherings. Mother says it is because I was raised in a closed off envirorment with too many tutors and adults and not enough children to play with. My father says it is because me mother smuthers me in public--not that he'll say this in her presence of course. My father is a wise, happily married man and I assume he wants to stay so.

The real reason I keep to myself is simply because no one wants to talk about the things I do. Every one of the boys my age talks of nothing but fighting, politics and, girls. Their minds don't seem capable of anything else. Any older men, my fathers age, don't like to include me in their private conversations and on the rare occasion they do, all they talk about are politics and women. Men don't change much over the years in my opinion.

I want a companion who will speak about how the ground smells after a thuderstorm, or what flavor of pie they feel like eating on a certain day. I want to speak to someone who has an open mind, even in politics, and will be kind and curious to persons of every station. I need a compion who will tease and jest with me, without having to using the barbaric breed of physical sparring every day. I wish to be able to argue with someone over the dullest topic, and yet be unable to stop laughing. I need a loyal, witty, kind hearted person who will acept me as me, with or without the promise of wealth.

No one has ever managed to fit that description.

"So, Master Edward," The governor says, slowly trying out my christian name. I smile, showing him that I took no insult. "What plans do you have tomorrow?"

I swallow, moving out of the way as our main course was placed in front of me. "I thought, your grace," I told him, "That I might borrow a horse and ride into town. To get a grip of my bearings, so to speak."

"Ah yes," The governor said, "That sounds lovely," Then turning to his neice, "You haven't riden into town lately, have you Kathrine? Maybe you should accompany young Master Edward."

Kathrine seemed nervous and panicy. "I-I wish I could, Uncle, But I've already made plans with Chelsea for tomorrow. I told you about it."

Particks remembered, nodding his head in acceptance. "Perhaps another time, then?" he asked, looking between Kathrine and I for approval.

"Another time," I said easily.

"Another time," Kathrine repeated, nodding and smiling at me kindly.

I bent down, beging to cut into my slamon when I heard Patricks speak to my father. "Be careful, Ed. You might want to warn you son about those...people out there. Wouldn't want him running into any trouble, hm?"

"People?" I interupted quietly, unable to squash my curiousity.

"The Patriots." The governor said, leaning forward to show the signifigance of his words.

"I've heard they're brutes," My mother intergected, her voice strong over the rumbles of other conversation along the table.

"Then you've heard right, my dear," The governor went on. "They are unruly, neanderthals who have little to no respect for people above them."

People like yourself, I thought, though refrianed from speaking.

Patrick went on. "I shudder to think what would happen if they got a hold of my Katie," he smiled endearingly at his neice. "The Patriots--they hate the British."

A girl a few seats down from me--her brown hair curled up so it gave her more than two inches of extra height-- spoke up then. "How can they hate the British?" she asked in a high pitched, slightly nasal tone. It was, over all, a very unattractive voice. She had a squished, pug nose. "They are British."

The governor laughed then, a full loud belly laugh that silent the table and silenced everyone who sat around the wooden slab. Hesitantly,we all began to chuckle along with the man.

After a minute, the round bellied man getting out the words in between sharp gasps, the governor told the niave girl, "Thats exactly the point, my sweet!" And more laughter erupted among us all.

I, of course, was one of the few who didn't have the decency to chuckle much. The Patriots meant little to me, for I knew little about them.

Perhaps, tomorrow, the Patriots would prove the governor wrong about thier uncivilized nature. I certainly hoped they would.


	3. Colonial Beauty

Chapter 3

Colonial Beauty

It was just before danw when I awoke the next morning, throwing the leather saddle over a handsome chestnut mare. I stroked the animal's fur softly, soaking in the touch of it's gentle skin. The animal's name, apparently, was Marybelle, and she was the fastest horse in the Governor's stable's.

That had been my only request this moring when I awoke and called for Holard. He had drawn a bath and told me, roughly, where told was. I had smiled and thanked him, asking for the fasted horse he could find. He had bowed and replied, "Yes Master, Masen."

I had twice to call me Edward, and the kind man still seemed apprehensive about it.

Now, however, I couldn't spare too much thought to Holard. My heart was set on adeventure—of the wind blowing back my hair and the movement of a horse's feet underneath me as they trotted on the cobblestone road. I wanted to get out of being _a Masen_ just for a little while—just to free for a moment. Speed did that for me. It made me a different person with less responsibilities and more joy. To where the smile that crept over my face was no longer cynical or ironic. But full of joy and laughter. I never got these feelings at home—where my behavior was strictly dictated by my position. Where I wasn't Edward—music lover, book enthusiast andspeed addict. But Edward _Masen_, a polite and cordial gentleman.

I used to go riding everyday in London, just so I could feel the euphoria of freedom. Just so I could find _me_ for a few hours.

I positioned myself carefully, grabbing the pommel and sliding my foot into the stirrup pad, using the leverage to lift myself upward and straddling the animal. The horse did not stir and I smiled—I much preferred a mild, even tempered horse to a raging stallion.

As soon as I was situated correctly, I leaned forward and smacked lightly against Marybelle's rear. She tossed her mane of light brown hair, giving me a heardy neigh. I laughed—she was sensible, but not to trifled with.

We set off at once, Marybelle jumping over several heges before we were half a mine outside of the governor's land. I laughed and patted her neck, telling her there would be plenty of time for wild jumps and to cal down.

As we neared town I slowed to a gentle trot. It was morning now, and the streets were beginning to be occupied by the towns people. They, for the most part, ignored me. But once or twice, I , oddly enough, caught nasty glares from a few of the occupentce. Their fists would be clenched in anger, a murderous glaze in their eyes. I swallowed—not likeing that I allowed them to make me nervous.

I noticed the shallow differences between the colinsts and I. The mens hair was cut dhorter and unstyled. Te women dressin simpley, sometimes dirty closed. And it was not completely rare to se a woman or young girl running around with her long hair flying in the wind. It was endearing, seeing the freedom on their faces.

It was around ten or so—as shops were beginning to open—that I parked my mare near a small bookshop. I hadn't been able to bring any of my reading material with me from London, and now seemed the best time as any to find some entertainment.

The shop was quait and smelled of ink in the air. A bell on the side of the door rand as I pushed it open, and stepped inside.

Sitting behind a counter at the very end of the room, was a man. He was short, his hair balding on his head. His cloths were slightly tattered ad torn, a hit of his red waist coat torn underneath his jacket. The burning afternoon heat of the colonies hadn't hit yet, but I could only imagine how he was able to stand the scorching desert air.

As I stepped forward into the shop, the man lifted his heard. His thin, worn lips were scowling deeply at me, his tired eyes blazing with a passion I had seen in the gazes outside the store.

Suddenlly, the answer to all of thier unrelenting hostility became clear.

The governors words continued to echo in my mind...repeating over and over...

_...they hate the british._

Was it true then? Could they sense my forigness to this place and were rioting against me because of where I was born? Could there be no hope for my enjoyment in this town?

The book shop keeper certainly didn't make mer feel hopeful.

I gave him a short, polite smile and his scowl, somehow, deepened. Quickly, as not to cause a scene, I crept to a near by book shelf. I scanned the selections for a few moments, depressed that I couldn't find anything new when suddenly a title caught my eye.

_Common Sense. _I almost chuckled--it was an oddly nammed book. I used my finger to grab the very edge of the spine, near the top, and pulled it out from the shelf. My fingers carressed the soft cover, feeling the groves of the letters imprinted in the dark leather. The author was Thomas paine....I had never heard of him.

"I don't think you'll like that one very much," A voice, cold and slightly amused called from behind me.

I turned to see the shop keeper looking down at his desk, a sharp quill in his fingers scratching away at a roll of parchment. He acted as though he had never looked up, though I was positive I had heard him speak. I opted for repsectfullness rather than arguing. "Oh?" I asked, still holding the book in my hands. "And why would you think that, sir?"

His eyes never looked up. "Because that book promotes free thinking and government."

Ah, politics. Of course. "And how do you know I don't believe in freedom?" I challanged, taking a step towards him.

He still seemed fulling ingrossed in the peice of paper underneath him, though both his eyes and quill had stilled. "You're a tory, at the very least. British, at the very worst."

I smiled. It seems the world today was filled with nothing but sterotypes. My people, the British, thought the colonists were nothing more than brutes, while the colonists thought the Bristish were machines and without feeling. Perhaps I could prove both of them wrong.

I simply smiled at the ma and walked toward the counter. I pulled my money purse out of my waist coat pocket, asking the man how much. He gave me the price and I happily paid him, smiling and giving him a cheerful, "Have a lovely day, sir." before stepping bacck out into the morning sun.

I went about my day with a little less personal conntact. As the day began to wax, I noticed more and more people on the street avoided me--huddled together. It was nothing like the streets of London, where I couldn't seem to walkj around a corner without my presence being agnoledged.

I wasn't sure which I dispised more.

Around noon, as the street began to crowd and drops of sweat dropping from every inch of my skin, I could easily see the stares from men and women below me growing harder and more disgusted. Where was the tolerance in this wolrd? The justice?

Soon my stomach began to rumble, the growling sending vibrations through my body. The ride back to the governors mansion was longer than I was willing to tolerate just for lunch. I saw, from the corner of m eye, a small tavarn. I rode up, gracfully sliding off the animal beneath me and grabbed a hold of the rope around my horses neck. I tied Marybelle up tightly, giving her a sweet pat on the head and promising to bring back something for her.

I stepped inside the smoke filled room and blinked, focusing on the chamber in front of me. It was windowless and dark, only lite by the glow of candles. Men sat around, chatting happily and laughing brightly. I could detect the aroma of hot food in the thick air, the smell of ale so strong it almost bit on my tounge.

Most of the men crowded in the tavern ignored me, thier attention concentrated on more imprtant things. But, as I gazed around me I spotted a tightly nip group of men near the front of the restruant. Their bodies were stiff and cold--unwelcoming. All of their mouths were fixed into rough scowls that were fixed on me. The one nearest to me was large--_very_ large. His arms were three times as large as my wrists combined, all of his mass made of muscle. His hair was dark in the candle glow, curling against his scalp.

The man behid him, whose scowl was slightly less intimidating, was about half the first man's width. His hair was a golden honey, his eyes composed ad careful. He nodded at me, seeming to be polite. I nodded back, moving my gaze to the back of the tavern where an empty table sat. I made a bee line straight for the spot, hoping my cheeks weren't flushed in awkward embarassment.

As I sat down, sliding the lit wax away from my overheated skin, I looked around for a tavern boy to get some water.

What caught my eye was something _tremendusly _better.

She was standing next to an elderly man, her smile seeming to brighten the entire room. Her skin was a classic ivory, glowing radiantly in the glow of the chamber. A thin white bonnet covered her head, a strand of long choclate hair had fallen out of her wrap and drew my eye as it fell neatly onto her exposed collarbone. The delaicate shap taunted my gaze, teasing me in a strange, forign way. Her under petticoat was the color of sky, peeking out from underneath her deep blue gown. I saw how the color brought of a fiant blush on her cheeks, the way her silky brown lock shinned in the light.

She smiled at the kind mana again, her eyes swwet and genuine. Her orbs were a deep brown--warm and friendly. After a kind, soft pat on the shoulder, she left the man, walking over to behind the counter. I saw as she bent down lowly, the curve of her back mezmorizing that gentle lock of hair that continued to draw my attention...tempting me.

The man near her--the large, burly one--leaned close to her, close enough to brush his lips to her ear, whispering something. A whisper between...lovers?

The thought had anger rushing to the surface of my skin...the color of red so promonet that I could see it on the surface of every object, taste it gently on my tounge and feel it work it's way into the very fiber of my soul. I wondered if they were married, or if that beast were simply taking her innocence.

I wanted to kill him.

Something so angelic_...so beautiful_ should never be defilled in such a manner.

_Unless it's you doing the defiling_ a soft, gently whispered into my ear. The thought startled me, but yet I couldn't deny what I felt for her. The want in my very soul, my bones, was something I had never before expirenced.

Her eyes suddenly looked up to meet mne, her gaze curious and innocet. I gulped heabily and looked down, studying the surface of the table as though it held the very meaning of life.

Trying to focus on anything other than the angel across from me, I pulled _Common Sense_ out from my waist coat pocket, prying open the soft leather book. I titled the candle near me, angling it so I could read.

I barely had managed to finish the first sentence--though I had reread it over five or six times--when a bell like voice chimed so close to me. The beautiful tone could only belong to one such angelic creature. "Enjoying the book?"

I looked up and her gentle, warm chocolate eyes were so much closer...so perfect...

"I'm sorry?" I asked, trying to bring myself out of the haze she had created.

I looked up to met her eyes and saw, with much confusion, that her gaze had never left my face. The tray of empty glasses she was holding in her arms seemed to shake slightly. Her eyes were, impossibly, somehow even large than before, so deep than I felt I could swim in them. Her bottom lip was tucked in between her teeth, and I could only imagine how smooth and soft it would feel to pull that skill out of it's trap. Her skin was flushed brightly, leading down her cheeks and down into unscene terrotories. Places I wasn't alowed to go...to explore...to touch and feel and taste...

She seemed to snape out of her distraction and answered my question.

"Thomas Paine," she stated, avioding the eye contact I so craved. "He happens to be causing quite a stir around here..with that peice of literature. I've heard it it can be quite presumptuous at places."

My eyebrows raised high, pleasently suprised. Presumptuous? She was intellegent.

"Do you read much?" I inquired, leaning forward. How was I supposed to convrse with a goddess such as this?

She blushed again and I admired how the shade of pink it brought out in her skin, taunted my diseares to a point of pure toture. I wanted to stroke her skin, to feel the warmth beneath the smooth surface.

"Not as much as I used to." She answered quietly.

I was intriged in this quiet, beautiful girl. I suddenly felt like a charaltan. Here was this glorous angel, standing on sore feet, and I had yet to offer her a seat. "Please," I asked, motioning to the chair in front of me. "Join me?"

She shook her head and looked down, her blush reddening to a deep scarlet. "I should not, sir." I frowned at the title, but did not interupt her. "I only came over to ask if I you would like anything?"

I leaned closer to her feeling the heat roll off her skin in waves. "I'm sorry, Miss..." I waited for the goddesses name.

"Swan." It could barely be heard over the murmers of the tavern.

Swan. Garceful and beautiful. How perfectly fitting.

I also notice how she did not correct her title. She was unmarried then? But spoken for?

"Miss Swan, the thing I wish for most is your company."

Her eyes seemed to flash with fury, but her voice never rose from it's quiet whisper. She stepped closer to me, so that her gown was almost touching my arm. I breahed in her sweet scent, the perfume of her presence.

"I am very sorry to disapoint you Mr--"

"Edward," I smiled at her, loving how the angry tone made her sound.

"Mr. Edward--"

I interupted her again, wanting so much to stand and enfold her form into my arms. "Edward is my christian name, Miss Swan. I absolutly destest being called Mr. Masen, or Master Masen. Anything Masen, actually."

She took a deep breath, but I noticed her rage had diminised just slightly. "Edward," she said seriously. I glowed from the sound of my first name off her soft lips..."I hate to ruin you perspective of us_...scarlet, _colonial girls, but just because a young lady works in a tavern does not mean they would_... _that _I_ would ever...I'm not selling my _company_, Mr. Masen."

I gasped, now realizing the horrific mistake I had made. "I'm so sorry Miss Swan," I apologized at once, rising to a standing position. "If you'll excuse my outstanding mispeak, I never meant to imply you were anything of..._that nature._ Trust me when I say that the only thing I would ever ask from you is converstaion."

She blinked and a slow chuckle came from her small mouth. "Conversation, Mr. Masen?" She asked, looking down shly. I made me smile at the same moment that I wanted to bring her so much closer to me. "Most men don't seak words from a poor, tavern girl."

"It's Edward," I corrected kindly. "And I prefer to think myself unique." _But not nearly as speacial as you, Miss Swan._

She smiled. "You most certainly are, Edward."

Behind her, so suddenly I didn't have time to predict it, a young boy ran past, a long stick in his hand. Her was headed to toward the doors, not looking at whom might have been in his path.

Miss Swan lost her balance, the tray of glass falling from her hands. Her small, delicate body lurched forward. I reacted instinctivly, throwing my arms out and pulling her body against mine. I breathed in her wamth, absorbing it into every fiber of my being. She was beautifula and lovely, and here I was, holding her in my arms.

I barely heard the crash of glass against the hard floor. She was looking directly at me, her soft lips, warm eyes, and ivory features so close I could practically taste them. It would only take one small movemnt, barely a movment at all, to connect her tempting lips to mine. Would she want that?

She was gazing at me with warmth...so kind.

"Bella!" A deep, overly loud voice called from near us. I looked over Miss Swan's short figure--still encased in my grasp--to see the large man from ealier marching over, his epression pure rage.

The gril carefully slipped out of my hold, looking at me with worry. _Run,_ her eyes seemed to say.

I stood my ground.

The man grabbed for Miss Swan, his large hand gripping her in a way I thought was much too rough, and pull her over to him. "Did he hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutly no-" she began to say, but was cut off as he spoke to me, his words like blades. "Don't you_ touch _her, you  
English ass."

I fliched from his words but said nothing, keeping my posture composed. "I assure you," I began. "I was only catching her."

He laughed once, his features hard and stone. "I have no doubt" he spat at me.

"Emmett!" The girl beside us--her angelic voice sounding infuriated--called. "He was doing _nothing_ improper."

He too looked angry, but did not turn his gaze from mine. "I saw the way he was look at you," He told her. "There was nothing _proper_ about that."

She turned toward him and said, very seriously. "Emmett, go away. My time here is limited. I'll be going home shortly. Finish your ale so I can send you home to Rosalie." When he did not move, she added "Now!" Her tone was harsh.

He let go of her and turned away, sitting beside the blonde haired man who was whispering to him, trying to calm his nerves.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Miss Swan told me, "If there is anything else I can do for--"

I stopped her before she could finish. I sounded desperte and pleading. "A place to met you, Miss Swan. Please. I wish nothing more than to spend more time with you. And your name, if such a thing does not offend you to harshly."

She flushed deeply again and I held back a sigh. "Bella." She whispered.

Then, her chocolate eyes staring straight into mine with staggering intenisty, she said. "The Patch Farm, Monday Morning. Just after dawn."

And then she was gone, her sensual figure walking toward the man named Emmett as I stared in mezmerized, hypnotised lust.

Bella Swan.

Beauty Swan.

How perfectly fitting.


	4. The Infamous Swan

Chapter 4

The Infamous Swan

"Are you alright, dear?" my mother asked me shortly before I retired later that night, her eyes peering over her tea cup suspiciously. She was in her second best gown tonight, a pale lavender color that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. We had both moved to the parlor after dinner, along with a small crowd of the Governor's other guests.

My family seemed to be a favorite among all of the summer visitors here. People knew my name; Edward Masen Sr. was a highly respected and well known lawyer in London. But more than that, they knew that the Masen family was very close with the royal government and thereby wealth.

Miss Jessica Stanley, whose father owned one of the largest export companies in all of Britin, did not seem oblivious to this fact.

She was currently hundled up very closely to another girl on a dul tan settee and they were leaning in close to on another, their eyes pointed closely in my direction and ridiculous giggles bursting from their lips any second now. Miss Stanley, upon seeing my gaze on her, blushed lightly and gave me a small, seemingly flirtatious wave. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her antics and turned back around, sighing.

It would seem that just because a young lady blushed and smiled, she thought she could have whatever she wanted, without even having to work for it. I didn't understand how girls thought that simply because they were female, it made them any less capable than a man. Left and right sufferagests were howling about wanting equal rights, but no one seemed to want to show me what they would use these rights for.

The only hardworking girl I had ever met was Bella, and I barely knew her.

But hopefully, that would all be remedied soon enough.

At the mere thought of meeting Bella tomorrow my smile grew ten times it's normal size and my heart seemed to beat with a strong, renewed force.

Jessica misinterruted my grin and smiled back, blushing yet again.

The red flush of cheeks looked much better against Bella's thin, natural skin to Jessica's overly powdered layer.

"Edward, dear?" my mother asked again, bringing my attention back to the present and away from how Bella's gentle body felt wrapped in my arms, th e heat I could practically seem radiating from her porcelain cheek, how mush I had wanted to ean forwad…to touch that delicacy…

"Yes mother?" I inquired, turning towards her.

My mother placed her needle working down on the loveseat beside her, standing up to sit next to me, on the piano bench. Her hand came up to touch my cheek and forhead, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you feeling a tad feverish Edward?"

I blinked, confused. "No, mother. I feel as fit as ever."

"Then why are you acting so queer?"

I was startled momentarily by my mother's comment, but was able to distract myself from reacting outwardly by turning to the pianoforte and touching lightly up the scale. I knew all too well what my mother had meant by my odd behavior. I was normally quite uncomfortable around people, unsure of every move made. People, typically high society ones, would read into every thing one does--from a quick glance to whom you address first in a room. I found my reputation was kept much cleaner if I simply kept myself out of the gossip entirely.

But now I couldn't keep the smile off my face. I could feel the excited flush of my skin that hadn't faded in hours. Every finger and toe seemed to be figgeting anxiously; impatiently. I couldn't wait.

I would get to see Bella in two days.

I really couldn't wait.

Every hour of my time seemed unimportant, because Bella wasn't here. I couldn't yet understand how one girl---whom I had barely exchanged one conversation with--had taken hold of me so concretely.

I suppose I was acting queer after all.

I fiegned stupidity to my mother.

"Am I?"

I saw her mouth twitch into a smirk, and I knew she saw right through me. My mother was often extremly perceptive and I was not an exception. "You know very well you are, Edward. Tell me, what is going on in your mind?"

My fingers stroked along the ivory keys. "How do you know I'm thinking anything, mother?"

My mother laughed quietly, using her hand to cover it so no one would see. "Don't play coy with me, Edward," she answered once her playfulness had sobered. "You over think everything. Sometimes I wonder if you were better suited for a philosopher than a lawyer."

I looked away quickly, hoping she didn't see the short lived scowl that crossed his features. Who proclaimed that a man had to follow directly in his fathers footsteps. What if I didn't wish to be a lawyer? I much prefered an honest occupation.

"What's so wrong with being a philosopher?" I questioned quietly, not turning to meet my mothers emerald gaze.

She seemed strangely oblivious to my discomfort. "What kind of girl would want to marry a philosopher?"

_If Bella would have you, you'd get a job in the damn stables._

I almost choked on the thought. One short hour with the girl and I was ready to marry her? I was completely insane! Ridiculous!

And yet, I could find it no where in me to disagree with the small voice calling inside my head.

"Miss Thompson inquired about while you were off galavanting today, Edward."

I looked up at my mother, suprised. "The governors neice?" I asked, not sure what to do with my hands anymore. Kathrine had seemed like a nice enough girl...but I hadn't ever considered her anything other than a good friend.

"She's very pretty, isn't she?"

In a normal, ordinary way, I supposed so. Very stright laced and proper. Not nearly the same kind of natrual, wild beauty that Bella seemed to radiate...

I gave a noncommittal "hmm".

I saw my mother open her mouth to comment again, but before a sound could barely be heard the two french door leading into the palor were swund open with a terrific thud. All of the people inside jumped ten feet in the air, barely able to control their shock.

The governor strolled in, his normally bright and cheery face reddened with fury. His hair was standing up on it's ends, as though he had been pulling roughly on it. In his hadnwas a crumpled piece of parchment, fisted so tightly that it lookedready to rip. His eyes were wide with rage and brimmed with tears of fury that seemed ready to unlesh themselves on all of us. Behind the murderous Governor Patricks followed my father, his air of calmness and exasperation obvious to all of us. He had obviously seen this level of hostility in his old friend before.

"That ruddy bastard!" The governor suddenly roared, his fist swinging around madly.

My father intergect at once, placing a clam hand on the governors shoulder. "There are women present." I heard him muttered lowly to Patricks.

"I don't give a damn who's here," he snapped back, throwing the scrap of parchment underneath his feet to grind it into the carpet. "That bastard Swan!"

My ears perked up immediantly.

Swan? As in _Bella_ Swan?

I was almost tempted to walk into the lions cage and demand to know who they were speaking of, but held back as the Governor began ranting and raving. "It's one thing to be a damned patriot--to be _treasonous_--but then he has to go and make trouble! Every other week he's starting a damned riot or sending his blasted son to beat the last breath out of my men! Barabric!" he all but growled, throwing a punch against the wall. All of the women jumped back, and I myself moved in front of my mother slightly. "And then there's that _whore_ daughter of his, constantly creating a stir amoung my men! Embarssing the good Patrick name!" He glanced around at all of us, his teeth bared in an anger so feirce that I almost shrank back.

Almost.

If it weren't for the fact that he had just insulted Bella Swan. He'd called her a whore.

Insulting innocent girls never sat well with me, but slandering Bella's name was completely out of the question.

I had to do something, and do it quickly. I couldn't afford to strike or shout at the governor as much as I wished it could--as every fiber in my self practically demanded. So instead I sat down at the pianoforte hurridly and boomed out a rendition of Beetoveen's Fifth.

The tense atmosphere in the room seemed to disappear at once, everyone laughing at my awakward and obvious change of subject. Miss Thompson had entered sneakily through the doorway then, here eyes darting quickly away from mine as soo as we met. I couldn't dwell on that for the moment.

The governor, too appeard to have calmed down. His skin had paled to its normal shade, his eyes calming noticable. He looked towards me and nodded, passing a silent, "Thank you".

I did not return the....gentleman's words.

The governor quickly composed himself and nodded apologetically to the group before turning sharply on his heel and marching out of the parlor. My father did not follow after us, and instead walked over to stand next to my mother. Her emerald eyes were wide with shock, and she turned to at me father questioningly. I stood from the piano benech immediantly and postioned myself next to my parents.

"Who was he speaking of?" I demanded at once, working hard to keep my voice down. My anger was begining to boil over--I was more than ready to cause a scene.

My father looked at me with suprise. I was never one to speak out and the fury inside me was bringing out a side I had never knew exsisted before. A side rashness, or barberic murderous hatred.

"Charles Swan. He's an adament patriot that continuously causes the governor trouble. Making treasonous speeches, "

"And what," I had to stop myself from snarling the word. "Did he mean by B--his daughter causing embarassment?"

My father gaze darkened and the expression his gaze was almost enough to nock all signs of ager out. He looked...intimadating. My calm, sensible father could have easily passed for a murderer from the shine in his eyes, the firm scowl placed across his kind mouth. "Edward," he said slowly, taking a step towards me. "There are some subjects that one shouldn't ask about, understand me?"

"Y-yes, father," I muttered out, my glare dropping shamefully to the floor. "Please excuse my tenaciousness."

"Of course," he told me.

The look in his eyes told me this discussion was not one we would be returning to. And the look in mine said that I would be getting the information despite him.

Directly from the source.


	5. Author's Annocment Sorry!

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	6. Farmland Warnings

**I love reviews! **

Chapter 5

Monday morning was hot, ridiculously so. As soon as I had donned my waistcoat and jacket in the early hours of dawn-before even the sun had arose-I could feel the sweat begin to pool just above my skin. This kind of sunless heat would have never occurred back home, in the clammy London air. I wondered idly how the colonists could stand the heat as I dressed. The candles I had lit to aid my vision only added to this uncomfortable heat.

It was barely past three o'clock in the morning when I awoke an unfortunate Holard from his slumber. I apologized profusely as I returned to my own station momentarily while I waited for him to get dressed. Soon after I had scrubbed my face and hands to rid myself of my sticky perspiration, a stumbling, half-dressed, half-awake Holard made it to my chambers. I hated the fact that I had cost the good man several hours of blessed sleep, but Bella had said to meet her just before dawn and I'll be damned to be late and miss her. I requested Holard to go saddle my mare from yesterday, and he yawned a tired "Of course, Sir. Right away." He removed himself from my chambers before I had time to correct him.

In my anticipation for the day ahead, I gathered little sleep last night. And yet I couldn't seem to understand Holard's exhaustion. It was as if I was so excited I was jittery, moving around my room at a rigid-rapid pace. I couldn't seem to stand still or stop from thinking ahead. As fast and controlled as my movements were, my thoughts were racing away.

While Holard ran down to the stables to prepare Marybelle for her run, I was attempting to put my nerves to good use. I snatched a piece of parchment from the writing desk near me and wrote out a note to my mother; telling her I had gone for a sun-rise ride. Although I wasn't ashamed of my...fascination, as I might as well admit, for Bella, knowing her less than liked reputation with the governor, I decided against mentioning her in the note. Once I had better grip on my bearings about the beautiful patriot girl, then I would inform my parents of her. If there was anything to tell, of course. How was I to know what would come of our conversation today? Perhaps I may find her to be less appealing in the morning light. Or, more likely, she would turn me away as any sort of companion because I was displeasing to her. I never wanted to displease Bella. Did I have any choice? Did my nationality already create a taboo around our relationship?

After the letter had been finished, I made my way down to find Holard feeding Marybelle oats from his open palm by the muted torch light. He stopped when he saw my approaching form, his wise old eyes seeming somewhat more awake than before. "Mr. Edward." He greeted me quietly. I frowned, but otherwise chose not to correct him. I nodded as I leaned forward to stroke soothingly at Marybelle's chestnut coat. "Thank you, Holard." I told him sincerely. I turned to smile at him. He grinned hesitantly back, and took a step to exit.

"Holard," I stopped him. "I have a few favors to ask before you take leave."

"Certainly, Si-err Edward, whatever you need."

I pulled the folded thick piece of paper from my waistcoat pocket and handed it to him. "Please give this to my mother when she awakes." I looked him square in the eyes, trying to illustrate the seriousness behind my next words. "This note informs my mother of everything she would need to know. The answers to any questions she may ask can be found in this letter."

Holard nodded at me; slowly absorbing my words. He seemed to have understood what I had not-so-subtly insinuated; do not mention anything of our conversation to my mother.

I took a small movement towards Marybelle, the anxiousness to leave already beginning to pool once more. "Also, Holard," I questioned, "have you ever heard of a place called Patch Farm?"

I saw Holard's eyes leave my face and fade away, off in the distance of his mind...

"Yes, Edward," he answered after a moment of silence. "I have. In fact, most people of Boston have." He hesitated and then moved forward in a rushed pace. "May I speak freely, sir?"

I smirked. "Only if you stop referring to me as 'sir'."

Holard couldn't keep the smile completely off his normally stone face as he told me, "I am...surprised, to say the least, at your asking of Patch Manor. It's wildly known that the Patch family are high supporters of...Patriotic beliefs. They have, so I've heard, even mixed with the Swan's-a most infamous family." My gaze grew hard. What did everyone have against Bella Swan? What had she done-and why did I find it so hard to believe that she deserved their distrust? Part of me wanted to ask Holard of the incident, but I refrained. As much as I liked the gentleman, the last thing I wanted was my father getting wind of my further interest of this continued speaking. I listened closely, trying to remind myself that this man meant no disrespect to Bella. He was only trying to serve a kind heed in my direction. "You might want to be...cautious with who you mention the Patch family to while staying here, Edward."

I forced a smile onto my face. "Thank you, Holard. Still, my reasons for visiting far outweigh any bickering that may occur." I silently added, I hope. I smoothly climbed on Marybelle's back, positioning myself comfortably on the soft leather saddle below me. "Do you know how to get there?"

Holard seemed incredibly anxious about telling me, but pressed onward despite his concern. "The manor is just on the other side of town-you'll know it when you see it. The fastest way is through the east wood. The ride is just over a half an hour."

"Thank you, Holard. Inform my mother I'll be back in time for supper."

"Of course, Edward. Safe traveling."

With that final good-bye, I ushered the chestnut mare quietly from the stables. Being the good, strong beast she was, Marybelle rode with all her power for a quarter of an hour. She didn't rear once as I led her through low hanging branches that collided with both my face and hers; jumping over fences, or even through deep puddles of water that splashed up into both our gazes. I never once used the whip on her, though I was in more than flushing to get to my final destination. After a rapid fifteen minutes, however, the steady mare seemed to be spent. She slouched, but her feet never stopped moving forward. I gave her a kind pat on the neck, running my skin over the soft bristles of her hair. I cooed her quietly with congratulations.

I arrived at the end of the woods soon after the first signs of the rising dawn. The sky was patterned a glorious rose and gold just above the horizon, and I was concerned that my haste was in vain. What if I was too late to see Bella? With that thought in mind, I gave Marybelle a sharp spere ahead. She was panting and gave a wild shake of her nutmeg mane, as if to say "Don't jest, boy. I'm too tired."

She galloped on ahead, despite her weakness, and we soon approached a large wooden fence. Marybelle gave a giant leap above it without a second thought, landing gracefully on the other side. Seconds later, we were greeted with a rotting wooden sign, its barely noticeable white paint read: "Patch Farm and Manor".

I exulted, and let Marybelle slow to a peaceful trot. We had arrived before dawn.

Soon we had completely gone of the wood, and I rode through a peaceful springtime meadow. The grass was flourished with an almost unnatural green, the flowers and bushes glowing with false magic. I inhaled deeply, gazing around. Below the hill I stood on, still on top of my reliable beast, I saw all of the Patch Farm. Off in the far distance sat a large manor, the sides painted a pale yellow with window panes painted a blue brighter than the sky, even in the muted light. It was three stories-a significant height, even to my upper class society raising. Closer to me than the house were several farm buildings, one larger than the others. This one looked like a stable, and had a well positioned near it.

And then, at the well, something much smaller came into my focus.

Her form was small and lithe, even crouched close to the ground. Her hair was not as perfectly capped as I had seen it the other day, and many strands of chocolate fell into her angelic face. She was wearing a dark scarlet dress today, and the petticoat was a innocent cream, the ruffles showing underneath her gown. She turned as I was watching her-though it felt more than ungentlemanly to do so-and displayed her back to me. I almost gasped in shock as I saw her gown did not reach all the way up to her neck, and instead dipped down almost to her mid back. I saw the creamy skin that was exposed to me, so ivory and pale in the morning dawn. It seemed as if it were a thick curtain of silk laid out for me, just waiting to be explored. Bella's body bent forward to pick something up off the ground, her figure slumping over from the weight. She picked it up, throwing the handle over her shoulders. I saw then that it was a yolk with both buckets filled to the rim. She seemed to quake underneath the weight of the water, her face contorted in pain. Her leg, still shaking madly, moved to take a step forward and collapsed against the ground, knocking the water all over the grassy ground.

I lightly kicked at Marybelle's side with my heel, ushering her forward and down the hill. Her hooves kicked up patches of grass as we rode, the dirt smudging my clothes. I jumped off my mare's back as soon as we came to steady leveled ground. Ignoring the riding pains in my legs, I reached Bella in seconds, almost shocked to see how much more beautiful she looked up close. Her hair was no longer simply chocolate, but shimmering with streaks of cherry. Her figure was curved and full in the exact places it should have- without the use of corsets or any other damned thing high English society women use. She was purely glorious.

I walked over and placed a gentle hand on the underside of her arm, lifting her to her feet. She gasped loudly and turned to spin, tripping slightly at the fast movement. I had to place my hands on her shoulders to steady her. I looked into her eyes, melting at the warm color. "Are you alright?" I asked, concern thick in my tone.

The blush I had seen before crept up Bella's ivory satin skin, making her neck and face a lovely pink before she answered, "Yes, of course. Thank You." Her blush intensified as I dropped my hands. Her gaze met mine, and it was filled with such confusion and pain that I wished to hold her and question what was wrong. Why did she bring out such desires? Was it her innocence? "You came."

I nodded slowly, fighting the temptation to put space between our bodies. "I said I would, Miss Swan." I looked around at the farm, pretending to gaze at the lands before me. "My I ask what you are doing here?"

Bella laughed then, low and awkwardly. She turned away from me again-still taunting me with the low back-and bent to pick up the yolk. "I work here, Mr. Masen," she told me in a tone of obviousness. " I work at many places. Here on weekday mornings, the tavern afternoons, and tutoring Saturdays." As she spoke her hands grasped the wood bar of the yolk, pulling it upwards. I stopped her, stepping forward to place my grip next to hers.

"Please, Miss Swan. Allow me." I saw Bella's grasp tighten and her eyes narrow, and I went on to assure her. "Not that I question your capability, Ma'am, but I shudder to think of you becoming injured when I could have prevented it." She still looked reluctant, but let go and stood back as I fitted it over my body. I have never been a particularly muscular individual in my life time; certainly nothing compared to Bella's possible sweetheart Emmett, but I was not unexercised. Where my mother had thought that musical talent, artistic appreciation, and perfected mannerisms made a refined man, my father had favored fencing and riding. I had developed plenty of strength through my running and swordplay, and sill the yolk was heavy on my weight. I could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Bella's petite form.

"Where would you like this?" I asked as I positioned the wood above my shoulders, wincing from the uncomfortable weight.

Bella avoided my gaze, a faint blush still present, and nodded toward the stables. She set off at once, me following quickly on her heels. Bella pushed open the slightly rotted stable doors, swinging it wide enough so that I could enter through. I gave her a smile as I passed, but she couldn't see with her head bent lowly. I could feel her body heat for those few seconds we were close to one another. I breathed it in, reveling in it. I almost felt drunk off a small portion of her presence, every fiber of me wishing to bring her as close as I had in the tavern.

I moved past her slowly, drawing out our closeness. "Where to?" I asked once inside.

The stables were large with wooden beams stretching across the ceiling as supports. Several windows lined the top of the building , letting just enough light through for me to see where I was. The floor was padded with hay and dirt, poles separating out half a dozen stalls to my left and right, three on each side. Four of the boxes held horses, two dark studs, a spotted colt, and a pretty cream colored mare. Bella looked up at me, smiled slightly, and said, "Just to your left-the white one. Snow's her name. " She took a step out of the door. "I'll bring in your mare. Just a moment," and she disappeared from sight.

I blinked at the suddenness of her departure, but otherwise followed orders. I let myself into the white Snow's stall, setting both buckets at her feet. I moved as the mare ducked her head and began drinking immediately. I walked out and was locking the stall just as Bella entered again, gently tugging on Marybelle's reigns. She was stroking the creature's neck lovingly, and it warmed me to see how gentle she was with the animal. It was simply another wonderful quality of which to add to my short, but quickly progressing list.

After Bella had finished locking Marybelle in an empty stall, next to the lighter of the two studs, I approached her slowly, twisting my hands together nervously. "Miss Swan," I addressed her quietly. "I hope you can forgive me for saying so," I swallowed nervously, "but I neglected to tell you how lovely you looked yesterday, and I must repair that now."

Bella's eyes widened significantly, the blush returning to her face at a furious pace. It was so beautiful that I had to resist bringing my hand up to cup her soft rosy cheek. "You think I'm lovely?" she asked slowly, her voice spiking to an unnaturally high level. Then letting out a shaky breath, she asked lowly, "May I ask you a question, Mr. Masen?"

"Only if you call me Edward."

She cracked a smile then, and I was pleased to see she had placed no space between us, even though we were improperly close.

"Why are you here?"

I smirked lightly, raising an eyebrow high in the air. "I believe you invited me, Miss Swan."

Bella seemed more than willing to join in my repartee. "If I am to call you Edward, Mr. Masen, then the least you can do is address me as Bella." Her tone was seductively coy, and it made the choke in my throat even tighter.

"Well then, I believe you invited me here, _Bella_."

I saw Bella resist the urge to roll her eyes at me, but she continued. "I meant, why did you ask to meet with me, Edward? I don't normally get asked by men to meet outside of public venues; if their intentions are honest, at least."

I frowned. How often was Bella approached by insufferable men? Did she have to defend herself often? Did she think me as one of these charlatans?

"I wanted to meet you." I said slowly. I had thought this point obvious.

"But why?" Bella looked so adorably confused. I wanted no more than to touch her, and I was at a loss to control the need any longer. I brought my hand up and placed just the tips of my fingers to where her neck met her shoulder, marveling at the creamy silkiness of her skin.

"Because you didn't hate me." I told her, the worlds pouring out of me before I could begin to censor them.

"Hate you?" Bella asked, concern deep in her gaze. "What do you mean, Edward?"

I took a deep breath, readying myself. "I walked through downtown yesterday completely by myself and ignoring everyone else, yet I was hated by everyone. I was expecting to be treated the same by you, but you were...kind. And lovely, which I believe I mentioned earlier. Is it so wrong that I wish to speak to you? I find you intelligent and charming, a friend that I would be more than pleased to have."

An odd look grew in Bella's eyes. It almost seemed like relief. She spoke before I had a chance to question her. "A friend?" She question. "What sort of...what does that entail?"

I smiled adoringly at her. "Whatever you wish it to, Bella. I would simply wish to speak with you. We could meet here on occasion. I could even help you finish your work, so my being here would never become a hinderance."

"I doubt you could ever be a hinderance, Edward," Bella said kindly, patting me on the arm. "And you, a upper class Englishman doing honest work? That I also doubt."

I started to feel offended, but the glint in her eye was teasing. "You do not think me an honest man?"

Bella laughed at my tone, moving backwards slowly. "Of course not, Edward. I do not think you a man of _honest work_."

I laughed too, shaking my head at such antics between us. It felt good to be able to tease her and not worry of the proper inclinations of society. Including the fact that we were alone, which many people-including my mother-would have shrieked at. I also fancied the fact that no one knew we where here; unless Bella had confided in someone. Still, it felt as though nothing from the outside world mattered anymore. As if we were our own world.

"Ready to get to work, Mr. Masen?" Bella asked with a sweet wink, lifting a large bale of hay that rested near the door. I saw her face strain with the weight, but she continued to lift it, and brought it several inches above the ground.

I walked over to her, taking it from her grasp and pulling it onto my shoulders. "Lead the way, Miss Swan.


	7. Tainted Temptations

**So sorry for the wait! Had some road blocks on this one! Hope some hot and steamy will make up for it! ...Maybe? **

Chapter 7

Tainted Temptaions

Bella and I were out in the orchard as midmorning began to settle upon us. The sun was fully risen as it brightened the apple yard, he red seeming to glimmer and shine in the light. Bella's long, dark hair also caught the sun's rays, bringing out an air of ruby to her thick locks. The effect brought out the natural blush to her cheeks and the richness of her eyes. I couldn't take me eyes off her; the scarlet dress with the low dipping back, her thick hair free from the confines of her cap, and smiling with a joyful, innocent face.

I had never seen anything so beautiful before.

She was standing on a small stool, a basket on the ground next to her. As she would reach up and pluck an apple, she would gently toss it into the cradle beneath her. A mysterious smile was playing at the edge of her lips; dancing around her expression, but never actually lighting her angelic face.

That same smile had been taunting me all day. Even through truly grueling tasks-of which I was only beginning to realized farming entailed-of pig feeding, calf bathing, and mud slopping, she always wore Da Vinci's favorite smile.

I was sitting at the base of the tree as Bella lazily tore apples from above er, humming all the while. "Are you finished?" I called out to her, purposely trying to remove any sound of whining from my tone.

Bella laughed gleefully, reaching up to steady herself on a high branch as she stepped off the stool. I perched upwards, ready to catch her if she showed the slightest sign of uneasiness.

"I'm done, Edward," she told me, sounding all the world like a child comforting an impatient child. Frowning, I watched as she bent down to retrieve an apple from the wicker basket at her feet. She held a ruby gem in her delicate fingers, examining it for a moment before walking over, dropping to her knees beside me. "You should eat," she held the apple out to me. "Our work is done; chores seem to go by much fast with two sets of hands." She grinned, pushing the fruit towards my unmoving hand.

I chuckled at her, stunned by her open showing of true friendship. It was something I was completely unused to In my world, it was simply understood that kindness and generosity were illusions; only to be used when needed, and then thrown away the moment it was necessary. Having Bella sit here and smile with me, laugh with me, and containing no hidden agenda or play for wealth was so unlike anything I had ever known, and yet everything I had ever really wanted.

I extended my hand, purposely gazing her fingers as I took the offering. The electricity churned between us, my heart fluttering in response as Bella's cheeks flushed to a shade not unlike the apple nestled in our grasps.

"Thank you," my voice was no more than a whisper. It was undeniable-Bella brought me to near speechlessness.

We sat in silence for a few moments, our bodies close enough that I could savor every wave of Bella's scent that wafted towards me, but just far enough that our skin never touched. I bit down into the fruit in my hand, letting the sweet taste flood into my mouth. I used the time as I chewed to form a question: to choose how I would phrase this delicately.

"Bella?" I whispered out, clearing my throat awkwardly.

She hummed lightly in response her mocha orbs gazing at the picturesque view surrounding us.

"I…" the hesitation was obvious in my voice. Clearing my throat once more, I pressed forward. "I live at the… well, that is to say, I'm _staying_ at the Governor's Estate while I'm here for the summer and…" Bella's shoulders tensed and her eyes narrowed. Her peaceful, carefree grin had completely disappeared, dropping to a angered frown. "You came up in conversation the other day." I pressed onward, "Governor Patricks seemed…less than pleased with you're family." Bella stood up suddenly, interrupting my bubbling speech.

Without a single word from her cherry blossom lips, she turned away from me, plucked the basket up from the ground and began to walk. I hopped up immediately, grabbing my coat and jogging to catch up with her.

When I reached her she rotated to face me, her expression livid. "Is this the reason, Edward?" she hissed out. " Is this why you wanted to spend time with me? Because you had heard I was the Governor's little…little _whore_?"

"No!" I shouted, shocked at the accusation. Pulling the wicker container from her hands, I shook her shoulders gently. "I would never think-"

"Then why?" Bella challenged, "You just want what every other boy wants. I can't believe…" She shook her head, disgusted and her feet began to carry her away from me once more. Frustrated with the direction of our conversation, I reached out to grab her small arm. Sharp pulses thumped between us once more.

She pulled away from our conversation first.

"I'm not like that," I told her, my tone unyielding and firm. "It doesn't matter to me if you…"

"If I _what_, Edward?" Her voice was a low, threatening hiss. "If I…I _gave myself_ to men. You wouldn't care if I propositioned all the boys in town with my female whiles?"

I stepped forward, barely an inch close to furious, tempting form. "No."

Her mouth dropped open silently at my quiet admission, though she said no more. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I know you," my voice was barely a whisper. The word were no longer being thought-the simple escaped from within me on their own, uncensored as the poured from my lips. "I know everything I need to about you. You're kind, and strong. You are beautiful." My hand left it's place at my side to reach up, my fingers ghosting along the warm skin of her blushing cheek. "I know that I've looked for you-waited for you. I know you're everything I need."

Bella didn't move from me, though we were much-too close. I could see my breath fan out across her stunning, and equally stunned, face. "This…" her voice wavered as she finally spoke, "This is impossible. Irrational. We've only just met," he words were those of protests, but her actions not. Her head slide downwards, her cheek resting in my open palm. I exulted inwardly. "How can I feel this way?" The last words are mumbled, so softly that it is as though she is asking herself.

We stood in the loudest of silences for a moment. Neither of us spoke, though our quiet said volumes. Bella had nothing more to say, and I could not dispute her prior claims.

At last, words left her succulent mouth.

"I haven't, you know."

My eyes questioned her and she continued, "Propositioned myself to men. I've never…." her tone faded and drifted off. Unable to help myself, my thumb reached down to trace a small spot behind her ear. From then I moved on to explore the rest of her delicate features. I learned the way her long, dark eyelashes caress her cheeks when she blinks. I studied how her button nose curled just slightly upwards at the end. I memorized the graceful slope of her long neck. My gaze settled lastly on her lips.

They looked softer than the billow clouds of London's summer. The top was just a bit too large for it's counter, and the small imperfection made her all the more appealing.

Instinctively, I leaned down. Bella's eyes, I noticed with euphoria, glanced down towards my mouth.

I wanted to kiss her so badly I ached for it-the uncomfortable weight in my trousers certainly proved so. My hand that rested on her neck slowly, cautiously traced her body with my finger tips. My skin felt the softness of her dress as I finally settled my grip at her delicate feminine waist.

In a second, all the world changed. Bella reached up quickly, locking her hands at my neck and stretching up on her toes. She pulled me down to meet her and smashed our lips together.

A sound of half cry- half choke sounded out of my lips. Her mouth was softer than I had imagined, and her normally alluring scent doubled as he mouth was enveloped with mine. Bella pushed hard into my lips, demanding and no longer asking. I moaned deeply at the sensation. I fought the violent urge to pull he tightly to my body, laying it out directly against mine.

I had just managed to control my unruly, ungentlemanly thoughts when-as was her usual way-Bella undermined my efforts completely. Her fingers traveled up the back of my neck and buried themselves in my pulled back hair, pulling me closer to her. My hands, in return, tightened around her curves, my fists gripping clumps of her teasing dress. I couldn't think anymore as reality seemed to loose all meaning. It was all too much-the feel of her soft, pillowing lips, her glorious perfume swimming through my senses, and the relentless gripping of my hair, pulling me closer and closer to her.

My resistance snapped, and Bella right along with it.

My gripped moved to the back of Bella's thighs as I hoisted her upwards, bring her body level with mine. My lips pushed against hers, asking, pleading, _begging _for her to open up to me. Frustrated when she did not my understand, I hesitantly snaked my tongue out, opening my mouth to her and tasting her lips. I groaned aloud. She was divine. Mouthwatering.

A moan that was not one of my own resounded in my ears at the feeling of our mouths mixing together, our tongues and teeth slapped and dances in a blinding rhythm, neither showing caution or hesitation.

Without realizing it, I had begun to move backwards, taking Bella with me. I felt the rough bark of a tree scrap against the back of my hands, Carefully repositioning Bella's back as not to hurt her, I pushed her further upwards, until each inch of our forms aligned. Instinctively, my hips pushed forward into Bella's and we both gasped at the feel of contact. She thrust back at me and we began to move like this perfectly simonized. After not to long I began to feel something within my stomach tighten roughly.

As though she sensed this change within me, the tempting woman pinned in front of me shifted, bringing her thin legs to lock around my waist and her dressed to raise up. Her lips left mine, but only to throw her head back in pleasure. Her lips opened in a low moan and her eyes shut tightly. I I moved forward again my hips-arousal tented and excited-came in contact with her most intimate portions, covered only by the thin shift.

"Bella…" I whispered out desperately. I wanted her to tell me to stop, that this was improper and wrong and…and….

"Please," was her answered whimper. "Something…" a gasp as I couldn't but thrust inward again, unable to halt any motion, "so close…I can feel…." another deep groan that pulsed through my body. "Feels so _good…."_

My lips, of their own accord, traveled downwards, to lick and nip lightly at the long expanse of neck that had teased me so…

My hips shifted slightly, thrusting up at a new angle and I was startled as Bella gave a high squeak of surprise, her body tensing roughly. Her mouth opened as her hips pushed roughly to meet mine. "A few…a few…" she told me. Bella was so close to the edge, as was I, I wanted to push her over it, to help her experience everything and anything good. I thrust against her soft, damp heat once…twice and I watched, transfixed as she screamed out, my name falling from her lips over and over, like a prayer.

I lost all sense of control then, letting go of the chains of self control that I had pulled so tightly around me. I spilled over, feeling the lights of pleasure shine and flash beneath my closed eyelids.

When I finally returned back to earth and opened my eyes to see Bella's shocked and flushed face not inches from mine.

"I…" I began to gasp out, still out of breath. My hands slipped from underneath her, exacted, and I gently let her feet touch the ground.

Bella's eyes were wide and her breath still came out in short gaps. She didn't move her body at first, shudders still occasionally wracking through her figure.

Finally-her flush forming into a full scarlet blush-she ducked under my arm and hurried quickly away from me, towards the abandoned basket.

I called her name, panic rising up and claiming my throat. I must apologize…what she must of though of me!

"Bella," I said when I finally reach her, my hand stretching out instinctively to grasp her.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant for anything…That was incredibly rude of me. You must think me such a…a coward. Or a cad. Or a number of horrible, disrespectful things. Please do not think my affections for you are based solely on…on what just happened." She had still not looked at me, her crimson face pointed in the opposite direction. "I assure you, Bella, I hold you in the highest regard."

Bella cleared her throat then, her words softer than the summer breeze. "Mr. Masen, please it is I that should apologize. I try to convince you that I am…a…_honorable_ and then I…attack you." she swallows deeply. "Please believe me when I say that _I _hold _you _in the greatest of regard. I understand if you do not wish to…prolong our…connections.'

"No!" I stepped in front of her, alarmed to see the trail of clear tears that had fallen on her face. "I would never wish such a thing. You are my…I care…"I stopped speaking quickly, as she looked up at me, her eyes wide.

"I care for you, Bella. I care for you like I have never cared for another."

She shook her head at me, and reached forward. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't care for me. We would never belong together. You need a wealthy, beautiful English girl. And I'm nothing more than a poor patriot's daughter. I'm not _good_ for you Edward."

"And do you care nothing for me?" I interrupted, knowing that this was not the truth. Bella was a smart girl, a rational girl…she wouldn't risk meeting me with some form of…fondness, would she?

"Of _course_ I care for you!" she yelled at me, turning away and fisted her hands beside her. "I care for you more than-in ways that-" she stops.

In a brave move I position in front of her. My hands reach down and, as gently as I can manage, I cradle her skull in my grasp. Her small, delicate face turned upwards to see that tears glistened in her chocolate eyes. Slowly-so slowly, as to give her plenty of time to reject my advances-I lean down and press my mouth to her neck, enjoying the way her slender columns pluses beneath my lips.

"That's all that matters." I told her, my breath fanning out across her pale skin. "You _are_ what I need-remember that."

She looked at me, tears forming lightly as her eyes swim with thoughts I couldn't even begin to place a name to. I saw fear flash through her eyes, followed by concern, and then settling into something which I could only hope to be content. Her hand-shaking and rattling-reached out to lie gently across my cheek. I turned into it, kissing her tender and rough skin of her palm. I Have never felt a woman's hands this coarse before-I doubted mine were even so blistered. I smiled into that though skin-my Bella was a strong maiden who worked for her life-who earned her keep. She was not a Lady of Nobel birth.

I flinched my smooth hands into fist, ashamed at their weakness.

I would become better for her. Stronger.

"Please." she whispered, her bell-voice echoing through my ears and settling gently on top of my aching heart. "Could you-there is so much I have to tell you about the…about Governor Patricks. Can you wait? Could you…ignore what you hear? Just for a little while?"

Our eyes met.

"I would wait forever, Bella."

Her feminine lips tugged upwards.

"Be here tomorrow. At dawn. Bring your book."

Her lips, still grinning, rocked forward to ghost lightly over mine.

"My Edward."


End file.
